


Trials

by cadaveres



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadaveres/pseuds/cadaveres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the trials the Inquisitor has gone through, all the loss he has suffered, the long overdue pain he had endured finally comes crashing down on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trials

It was not that he never thought of it; of all of his responsibilities, choices, and failures this was the one that hurt him the most. He was often misjudged as too cold, his emotions too controlled, but that was not him at all. In the midst of all the chaos, responsibilities kept on pilling on him, one after the other. Plights of the desperate and wounded, machinations of the privileged and opportunistic, threats of the enemies of peace, how could he be so selfish to ignore all of this simply because of his loss? 

_Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many of those who rise up against me. But my faith is abundant…_

His loss meant nothing in the greater scheme of things. This loss could be multiplied if he allowed himself to wallow in the pain and succumb to self-pity. There were others on the line, plenty of many others whose plights he had yet to hear but who were ever present on his decisions.

“Not now,” he would tell himself whenever thoughts dared to cross his mind. He was already prepared with a mission or job to distract his wandering mind with. He had learned to do this since he was so young, it now became natural for him. 

His life had been a series of events in which he had learned to adjust, to make the best of the situation despite the odds, to push away any thoughts of suffering and champion the occasion with humor and resolve. To some, the title Herald of Andraste could not have been more fitting. To him, the title mocked him because he could never be as selfless as the Bride of the Maker had been for the sake of her people.

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure._

The Trials were his daily mantra; he would recite it to himself whenever he felt like breaking down: in the dark of night when he was alone, in the bright of day when surrounded by the many people he had sworn to save. It kept him grounded and focused; it allowed him to continue without wavering.  


_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._

Even after months of having succeeded in his mission, he could still not allow himself to break the strong wall he had built between him and his failures. He feared if he allowed himself to feel the burden he had carried through all of those months, he could never muster the courage to live in the world that he saved and helped shape. 

Others kept him busy. Requests from the people who had followed the Inquisition, visits from the allies he had made along the way, late nights talking with the people who were with him through the thick of battle and suffered through the same fears that he did, all of them kept him from thinking, but the longing for closure was stronger at times.  


_And nothing that he has wrought shall be lost._

The visit to Wycome came as a surprise to his friends and advisors. After over a year of toying with the idea, of being tortured by the guilt of not paying his respects to his deceased clan’s mates and his family, he cave in. One night he was standing on Josephine’s studio, looking at her as though he was about to burst with pain. He had told her his plan; he had requested privacy, obviously referring to the Spymaster’s reluctance to let her travel unsupervised. He gathered a small company, those he trusted the most and those he knew would pry the least. 

They set off, all four of them, the next night. Arriving to Wycome, his companions could feel his resolve falter; his footsteps became heavier, his frame trembled but not from the cold. He fastened his pace as he saw the city closer, leaving a considerable distance between him and the rest. Varric had opted to camp outside the city, to grant him with privacy. Cassandra, on the other hand, wished for nothing more than to hold his hand through it all. But he had to do this alone.

_Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky._

Crossing through the threshold of what was once his home had to be the most difficult thing he had done. Not even the fear he had felt when he fought Corypheus or that dragon god could compare to what he felt when he stepped foot into the city. 

All his companions saw when he returned were stray tears that had smudged the make up on his face. They did not hear the muffled cries, the trembling that took over his body, the regret with which he called for his daughter, lips chapped and tears stinging the wounds that had not yet healed. 

_I remembered for them. They will see what can be gained. And though we are a few against the wind, we are yours._

It took little for him to regain his composure. He had simply stopped crying the moment he stood up. He had made no efforts whatsoever to conceal the tears and his red, swollen eyes when he returned to camp. It came as a surprise to Varric and Bull that they knew so little of his friend, that he had endured through such thing in silence and alone for so long, but other than the “Fuck” that left Bull’s lips and the look of concern on Varric’s face, they said nothing. 

_Though I am flesh, Your Light is ever present, and those I have called, they remember, and they shall endure._

It was only in the middle of the night that he had allowed himself to really feel the hurt that he had avoided for too long. What started as a realization that the past was never really left in the past, concluded with the two of them talking about a future they could not foresee. 

Everything moved too fast, much like every single trial they had gone through together and alone. Cassandra was soon on top of him and he could not think of anything else other than how much he longed for her. She placed soft kisses on his forehead, on his collarbones; her hands roamed through his body, tracing every scar, caressing every hurt. Tears came soon after, but the caresses and the hunger for closeness and comfort never stopped. He had never felt so many things at once. Love, sadness, pain, longing, anger, regret. All of those emotions were poured in the kisses he gave her, in the way his hips moved against her, in his calloused hands holding her closer, as closer as he physically could. 

The idea of living in the world he had saved terrified him, in the world where his choices were now to shape the future, where the outcomes would be a daily reminder of his mistakes. But as he was during that moment with her, tearful, passionate, scared, and loving, he felt that he could do it, with her at his side. 

_I shall sing with them the Chant, and all will know, We are Yours, and none shall stand before us._

**Author's Note:**

> Inquisitor Taralynerial belongs to [Asha](http://featherycats.deviantart.com/)  
> \--  
> Quotes are from the Canticle of Trials on the Chant of Light.


End file.
